


Pancakes for the Pancake Prince

by SilverWing15



Series: I'm Writing Fanfiction About Block Men God Help Me [20]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Sam | Awesamdude, Protective Sam | Awesamdude, Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), awesamdad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29159280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWing15/pseuds/SilverWing15
Summary: “I’m fine.” Ranboo says, he waves a hand through the air, too quickly, Sam’s hand twitches back for his sword. “I’m fine!” Ranboo insists, his voice too loud, too high. He stumbles another step back. “I’m fine.”“Ranboo,” Sam says, quiet and stern. He reaches up and pulls off his helmet, “I really don’t think you are.”AKA some Awesamdad that I'm writing as fast as possible before its nuked from orbit by whatever streams happen today
Relationships: Ranboo & Sam | Awesamdude
Series: I'm Writing Fanfiction About Block Men God Help Me [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057121
Comments: 16
Kudos: 753
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Pancakes for the Pancake Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Please someone just save The Boy, could someone please save The Boy. Someone. I beg you.

He tries not to stare too obviously at the sword on Sam’s hip. He’s the fucking  _ Warden _ and whatever Ranboo had done while sleepwalking has already made him angry. He is treading on ice as thin as a wish and he can hear it cracking under his feet. 

“Are you  _ okay? _ ” Sam asks, and there is such concern in his voice, such compassion. 

“No,” Ranboo says, shocked into honesty. 

Sam’s hand drifts away from the hilt of his sword and he takes a step closer. Ranboo takes two back. 

“Is there anything I can  _ do? _ ” Sam asks, thankfully stopping, not coming any closer. He’s not coming closer, he’s just standing there, Ranboo is alright. He can get away. Probably. Hopefully. Gods let him be able to get away. 

“No,” he says again, words tumble out of his mouth, too many. “Its not anything I can tell. Uh. You.” 

Sam takes another step towards him, “are you sure? Ranboo you seem...You don’t look good.” 

“I’m fine.” Ranboo says, he waves a hand through the air, too quickly, Sam’s hand twitches back for his sword. “I’m fine!” Ranboo insists, his voice too loud, too high. He stumbles another step back. “I’m fine.” 

“Ranboo,” Sam says, quiet and stern. He reaches up and pulls off his helmet, “I really don’t think you are.” 

“No no no,”Ranboo laughs, too sharp, too quick, too desperate. Why is he so  _ bad _ at this. He takes another step back. “I’m just. You know...I’m--Late! I’m late, I’ve got to go, actually so I’m just gonna--” 

“Ranboo stop.” 

He stops, he can’t not in the face of that tone. 

Sam holds his hands out, like he’s the one who’s surrendering, like he’s the one who’s helpless, like he isn’t  _ The Warden _ . Like he isn’t the sole overseer of the inescapable prison that is currently holding a  _ god _ , who Ranboo may or may not be working for. 

“I don’t think I like the idea of you going off on your own like this Ranboo,” Sam says, “you’re panicking, you nearly stepped off the path!” he gestures to Ranboo’s feet and when he flicks his eyes down and back up, Ranboo realizes that he’s right. 

“I don’t want you going through the nether like this,” Sam says, “not alone. Why don’t you let me walk you home?” 

He can’t bring Sam to Techno’s house. That can’t happen. No way, Techno would murder him. Not even Phil would stay his hand if he brought the Warden to their secret base. 

“No! You can’t, um. You can’t go to my house. I’m fine Sam, really. I’m just a little. I had coffee, you know. The caffeine really gets me.” He laughs and it sounds false even to his ears.  _ Why _ is he so  _ bad _ at this?? 

“Okay,” Sam says, soft and low, like he’s trying to calm a spooked horse. “We won’t go to your house then. You can come to mine, alright?” 

He can’t say yes, he can’t say yes, but he also can’t say no. Because Sam is onto him now. There’s no way he lets Ranboo leave. There’s no way Ranboo can outrun him. Not for the first time, Ranboo wishes that he’d gotten the ability to teleport instead of whatever magic lingers on his hands. 

“Come on,” Sam says, “we’ll go now. It’s getting late anyway.” 

The sun is still a few hours from setting, but neither of them points out the lie. 

Sam’s sword is still at his side, gleaming with enchantments and promise.  _ Warden’s Will _ , Ranboo knows its called. 

He doesn’t know how he knows. 

“Sure,” he chokes out. Sam smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows. Somehow he’s figured it out and he knows. Ranboo casts a glance behind himself, its a straight shot back to the portal, nothing to trip him up or get in his way, but nothing to provide cover either. How fast is Sam? Ranboo has long legs, most people can’t keep up with him, if he-- 

“Ranboo,” Sam calls softly, he’s waiting in the doorway, helmet tucked under his arm, body ostensibly relaxed. But Ranboo can see past that, he can see the balance in Sam’s stance, the way he’s ever so subtly up on the balls of his feet. Ready to run. Ready to chase. 

“Come on,” Sam says gently. It doesn’t take much force to bring a lamb to slaughter. 

But Ranboo isn’t some harmless lamb, he’s been working for the lion all along. Maybe its better for everyone if he’s locked away too. 

“Coming,” his voice is barely a whisper, his arms are wrapped tightly around himself. 

Sam smiles encouragingly and gently lays a hand on his arm. Not grabbing, just resting it there. 

Ready to stop him if he runs. 

“Its alright, Ranboo,” Sam says, “we’ll figure this out. First you need some rest though,alright?” 

“Alright.” Ranboo says quietly, defeated. He lets himself be led wherever Sam chooses to take him. Its not as though he could stop him. 

He keeps his eyes on his feet the whole way. He doesn’t want to see the prison looming over him, he knows that if he does, he’ll try to run. And if he runs, Sam will hunt him down. He signed those waivers, or some version of him did. 

He doesn’t know what was in them. He shouldn’t know what’s in them, but he gets the feeling that one of them gives permission for that sort of thing. Does it still count if he erased all the text? 

It isn’t as though anyone would--or could--stop Sam anyway. Not for him. 

“Breathe, Ranboo,” Sam says at his side, still quiet and gentle. Like he knows Ranboo is doing his best to cooperate, its nice of him. Ranboo doesn’t think his nerves could take it if Sam was speaking in the cold Warden’s tone that Ranboo hasn’t ever heard before but knows about all the same. 

He lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Sam’s hand is warm on his shoulder, more than warm really, almost burning hot. Like a brand. Wasn’t that a thing? Branding traitors? 

The familiar hum of a nether portal, the staticky, dizzy feeling of passing through to the other side. The heat of the nether, the pop of lava. 

“We’re almost there,” Sam says. Ranboo nods numbly. 

Brittle nethrrack crunches under his boots--there wasn’t any of that in the prison entrance was there? He doesn’t remember. 

But its not like that’s unusual. 

The chill of ice, contrasting the heat of the nether, wood under his fingers, wind in his face. Then they’re walking again. This...isn’t familiar. Is it? The wall falls away. 

“Through here,” Sam says, “just keep breathing kid.” 

They pass through another portal into the overworld. Ranboo squeezes his eyes shut, he can’t take the thought of those inescapable walls around him. He’d barely even noticed when they left the rest of the world, his last free moments and he won’t even remember them. 

Maybe he won’t remember freedom at all one day. That would be...nice? Wouldn’t it? To not even know what he’s missing. 

“Come on,” Sam murmurs, “almost there. You thirsty? We’ll get you something to drink, alright?” 

Ranboo nods, he’ll agree to anything now. Its not like he can say no. Sam is the Warden, and he is a prisoner. 

Stone scrapes, pistons chug beneath the earth. He looks up reflexively. This--This isn’t the prison. This is a mountain, somewhere unfamiliar in the overworld, a mountain with a great slab of stone steadily falling into the ground, revealing...

“Home sweet home.” 

Ranboo looks at Sam, he’s smiling, gently, worriedly, “be it ever so humble,” he says, there’s a spark of laughter in his eyes. 

“This is--” Wrong? A mistake? Confusing? He doesn’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t know what to do. “That’s a really cool door.” 

“Thanks! Made it myself!” 

As if Sam would need anyone else to build something for him. 

Ranboo looks back to his feet. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t know where he is, where he’s supposed to be. They were going somewhere, weren’t they? He tries to grasp the memories but they all flutter away from his hands like a flock of skittish birds. 

“Where are we?” 

Sam looks really worried now, “my base, Ranboo. I told you that.” 

“oh--I, sorry.” Cover it up, cover it up. Don’t let them see how damaged you are, how weak. If they know they’ll use it against you. “Right, yeah, sorry.” he laughs, “just, you know. Shocked by that door. Wasn’t expecting that.” he laughs again. It still sounds wrong. 

Sam doesn’t look convinced. “Come on, you hungry?” 

“Uh, no, no I’m fi--” his stomach growls. When was the last time he ate? 

Sam laughs, its a gentle sound, why does it make him want to tense up? “Somehow I don’t believe you.” 

That makes fear shoot down his spine, Sam has to believe him, Sam can’t suspect him, of  _ anything. _

“Have a seat,” Sam says, motioning to a bar stool at the counter, “I’ll see if I can’t rustle us up something.” 

“You don’t have to--” 

“You’re a guest,” Sam says, “its no big deal.” 

He ducks into a chest and comes out with a small packet of crackers, “here, start with those, I’ll get you a glass of water too.” 

Ranboo sits awkwardly at the Warden’s counter and quietly eats his crackers. Sam brings him a glass of water and they sit in silence as he steadily nibbles his way through one after another. He knows that they’re going to have to talk as soon as he’s done so he starts drawing them out, looking anywhere but at Sam. 

“Ranboo,” Sam says quietly, but he’s still got one left, surely-- “Ranboo, how bad  _ is _ your memory?” 

He fiddles with the half of the craker, scratching at it with a nail. Crumbs drift down onto his pants. “Its getting better. Or. I thought it was.” 

“And your memory book?” Sam asks, so quiet and gentle that Ranboo can almost forget that he’s the only thing holding Dream back. That he’s the one who runs the prison. Who  _ built _ the prison. 

“It...helps.” 

“But only if you remember to write stuff down,” Sam finishes the thought. 

“Yeah.” Ranboo hunches in on himself, he lets the tattered remains of the cracker fall onto the counter. 

“I’m worried about you,” Sam says quietly, “you’re all shaken up, talk to me Ranboo. I’ll help you.” 

He dares a glance up at Sam, there is real worry, real compassion in the Warden’s face. Ranboo bites his lip, trying to keep the words in. If Sam knows he’ll get thrown in the prison, or worse. He has to keep it secret. 

But the words burn in his throat, longing to be let out. Surely it would be better for  _ someone _ to know, even if its Sam. 

“Sometimes,” he says, nearly a whisper, “sometimes I wake up and I’m not where I went to sleep.” 

Sam listens quiet and patient, and when Ranboo is done speaking, he doesn’t yell, doesn’t rage, doesn’t lock Ranboo away in his prison. Instead he stands up and says, “lets have some pancakes.” 

“Pancakes?” 

Sam smiles, “Yeah, my mom used to make them for me when I had a bad day. There’s nothing pancakes can’t fix.” 

Ranboo isn’t sure that pancakes can fix  _ this _ , but he’s willing to give it a shot.


End file.
